The New English Art Club

The Speaker, 16 April 1892, pages 467-468, 1,572 words

No doubt some readers of THE SPEAKER remember the excellent exhibition of pictures held last autumn in the Dudley Gallery by the members of the New English Art Club. No doubt many remember the two life-size figures by Mr. Sargent; the wood all strangled by the snow, by Monet; and the wonderful "Leçon de Danse" by Degas. Nor do I think that the two charming pictures by Mr. Steer, or Mr. Sickert's portrait of the writer of this article, or Mr. Mark Fisher's exquisite "Farmyard" can be forgotten; such pictures persist in memory. The show was quite an extraordinary one, and it was clear, if its high level of excellence could be maintained, that the New English Art Club would succeed in damaging the reputation of the Academy more seriously than the Grosvenor Gallery had ever done. But could the New English Art Club maintain that high level of excellence? It was when I heard that the New English Art Club intended to risk another show – although six months had hardly elapsed since their last – that I despaired. What could a second show mean but painting for exhibition? and painting for exhibition is in art what writing for "notices" is in literature. The meaning of, the intention of, what most interested me in the New English Art Club was that it was a protest against the vice of painting for exhibition. Which has done the most harm to art, modern artistic training or picture exhibitions?

The newspaper has suppressed old-fashioned modesty, but there is surely some middle path between the privacy of old times and the loud commercialism of the Royal Academy. I thought that this middle path had been found by the New English Art Club: a group of artists animated by the same aestheticism exhibiting their pictures at undetermined intervals. "Undetermined intervals" is perhaps too high an ideal for our nineteenth century life, and a small annual exhibition might be borne with – might even be looked forward to with pleasure. So quite candidly do I tell the New English Art Club that if it intends a bi-annual exhibition – I should say a bi-annual hurrying up with pictures and a general turning out of studios – that it will lose all force, all vitality, and will sink before it is aware into decline and decrepitude. The temptation to make immediate money is a deadly temptation, and the sale of our birthright for a mess of pottage is futile greed. "Do not kill the goose that lays the golden eggs."

So much censure cannot fail to produce the impression that the present exhibition is an intolerable falling-off from the last. Let me hasten to correct this inevitable but erroneous impression. The present exhibition shows a falling-off, but the decline is by no means so rapid as might have been expected; and those who would study the tendency of English Art must still go to the Dudley Gallery. Besides tendency, some excellent pictures will be found there; and the present exhibition is especially noticeable for the discovery of a new man, Prince Pierre Troubetzkoy. The Prince exhibits what he calls a study for a portrait in the open air. Why study? for the Prince has carried his work as far as he can carry it, and I can hardly believe that he intends any variant on the present picture. Unfortunately, the work belongs to the school whose first principle of art is that the brushes should be wiped upon the canvas and all remnants of paint placed there with the palette knife. I have protested before against the plasterer-painter. The brushes of the old masters glided, swept, leaned; they were never filled with heavy gluey matter; and passing broadly or minutely according to the exigencies of the object treated, and in direct communication with the brain, they added all necessary accents and characteristic touches. And is it not a material impossibility that all sensibility of handicraft must disappear in this brush-wiping and palette-knifing execution?

It is very modern, too, to streak violet between the furrows of paint, and if the greens and blues, in the sacred cause of plein air, are kept very high in tone the painter may flatter himself that he is tout à fait dans le mouvement. But great art is never dans le mouvement. I regret the cheap and excessive modernism – perhaps modernity would be a better word – of this picture. I hate the principle of the execution, but I cannot pass on without complimenting the Prince on his excellent drawing and the power of comprehension and delineation of character. The face is an excellent piece of work. Not far away there is a small picture by Mr. Edward Stott called "On a Summer Afternoon." This is probably the most entirely satisfactory picture in the Exhibition. The subject is some boys undressing in an orchard preparatory to going to bathe in the river, which we do not see, but which is sufficiently indicated by the attitudes of two figures higher up in the picture. The hour is probably ten o'clock in the morning, for the atmosphere is soft and moist. The sunlight is breaking through the branches, and one bright drop falls on the white flesh of the boy sitting on the grass. The principal figure stands close by within the cool green shadow of an apple tree. He has lifted off his shirt. The painting of the body is that fluent, limpid execution which we admire in the Dutch masters. The figure is in and not out of the atmosphere. The silvery bloom of the atmosphere is on the flesh, and it would be difficult to praise this part of the picture too highly. The painter has achieved something which I have often seen attempted, but hardly seen achieved before. The brown trousers are not very happy, and the drawing of the sunlight that drops on the shoulders of the boy sitting down seems weak, and the spots of sky between the branches are loosely and awkwardly indicated, but as a whole the picture is an excellent piece of work, of which Mr. Stott has every reason to feel proud. Mr. Steer exhibits a full-length portrait of a lady, a back view, the face in profile against a blue sky. She is dressed in black and is walking on a balcony. The sky is intentionally conventional, the treatment being intentionally in the style of last century, in the manner of Gainsborough and Romney. The

picture shows how great were these old masters, and destroys the modern notion that anyone can paint a conventional sky. A conventional sky is just as difficult to paint as a "realistic" sky, perhaps more so; and if there be anyone who thinks this is not so I will ask him to copy the sky in that beautiful picture by Gainsborough which hangs on the staircase in the National Gallery. Though Mr. Steer's sky is not a failure, it cannot be said to be wholly successful, and the head which he has painted upon it is even less satisfactory. It seems to be wanting both in drawing and in quality. This is to be all the more regretted for the painting of the figure is excellent. All the passementerie on the dress is beautifully rendered, and the black is full of delicate greys which give sensation of movement and atmosphere. To make up for this partial failure Mr. Steer exhibits a girl's head which is altogether charming and delightful.On either side of Mr.Steer's full-length portrait of Mrs. Petre hang two full-length portraits by Mr. C.W. Furse. Both show the influence of Mr. Whistler. It would be as impossible to deny that the work is immature as it would be to deny that it is full of promise. Mr. Mark Fisher exhibits two pictures, and it is almost needless to say that both are charming. Apparently this artist sells at a third or a quarter of the usual price of .Messrs. Leader and Murray. The state of mind of the man who prefers a Leader or a Murray to a Fisher is more than I can imagine. Mr. Rousell exhibits two portraits. Of the two I prefer that of Mr. Bernard Sickert. Mr. Walter Sickert, unfortunately, only exhibits a very slight sea piece – done, I should say, some years ago. It is very charming, but I hope next time he will exhibit a new and more important work. He is one of the mainstays of the exhibition. Mr. Steer's portrait of Miss Nellie Kauffmann is rather commonplace, especially in the treatment of the head and hair and arms. There is some nice colour in the dress, but I like better his portrait of Mr. Harold Frederic. The modelling is full of expression, and if I mistake not that eye and cheek and forehead and nose are as good as anything this painter has done.

One of the best things in the gallery, and the best thing I have seen by the painter, is Mr. George Thompson's portrait of himself – a very fine characteristic piece of work. There are many other pictures in the gallery of which I should like to speak, but truth to tell I have not sufficiently seen the exhibition. On another occasion I hope to do justice to those whom I have wronged to-day. G.M.